


Coping Method

by SometimesWriting



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexia Nervosa, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hospitalization, Mental Illnesses, Molly's got a dark past that's coming up again, More tags to be added as story progresses, Relapsing, Sherlock's behaving like a dick, Sherlolly - Freeform, Suicide, brief mention of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SometimesWriting/pseuds/SometimesWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody has their struggles, has their problems and ways of coping with stress. Some people's are unhealthier than others. Molly thinks she's managed to move on from hers but what happens when a lot of triggers come together?</p><p> </p><p>Author's note: Trigger warning for later chapters, please check tags!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months I've given writing a longer thing an attempt again.  
> I'm curious as to whether anyone would like me to continue this story  
> so I'd be really really grateful if you could leave me a short  
> comment if you are :)

It was impossible for Molly to pinpoint the day when she’d started getting bad again when looking back at her situation, and perhaps it hadn’t been one certain day or one event but rather an unfortunate row of hurtful experiences made in a very short amount of time.

Unsurprisingly Sherlock had been involved in a majority of those. Like the afternoon Sherlock had advised her a couple of anti-aging crème brands, as “the number of available male partners your age is decreasing further and further and therefore, if you intend to impress the small rest of not completely social awkward men, you should try to hide your imperfections.”

She’d thrown away his experiment as soon as he’d left. The decomposing thumbs had started smelling anyway.

Then there was St. Barts annual Halloween party. Choosing to go a bit out of her comfort zone, Molly had decided not to go as a ladybug as she’d done the years before, but wear a ballerina outfit instead. It was a leftover from her teenage years when she’d danced in a ballet school until she’d had to give it up because of the time it required to study medicine.

Molly had been a little self-conscious as she’d gained a few pounds since the age of eighteen and therefore the outfit didn’t fit as well as it used to. But it still looked nice on her, as her best friend Meena had ensured her, so her more courageous self had gotten the better of her.

Also Sherlock avoided these events at all costs, so he wouldn’t be able to make a disdainful comment about her looks. It had been almost four years since that one Christmas party at Baker Street, yet she still felt her insides clench in shame when she thought of his comments on how she was “compensating”.

For a workplace party, it hadn’t been all that bad actually. The DJ played decent music, the “baristas”, two young junior doctors, didn’t offer a great variety of drinks but those they knew how to mix they mixed well, and the snack buffet had all sorts of gummy sweets, crisps, muffins, cookies and cakes, obligatory cringe-worthy Halloween toppings and shapes included.

Meena and she had had quite a good time and Molly had even received quite a few compliments on her costume, however not as many as Meena who was dressed as a zombie. Though it could hardly be called “dressed” actually, as her skillfully torn and fake blood splattered skirt and blouse did very little to hide her flat stomach and toned legs.

Whenever her friend was asked for a dance by someone, Molly patiently waited for her return, drink in hand and leaning against the wall while watching her colleagues that were in various states of drunkenness, and every once in a while she’d risked a glance at Doctor Ringwald who was leaning against the bar and laughing and chatting with his colleagues from the oncology department.

Sebastian Ringwald had only just started at St Bartholomew’s hospital a few months ago, yet about half of the female staff had already developed a crush on the tall broad-shouldered doctor with the dark-blond hair and grey eyes. Sadly Molly counted herself one of them.

“You should really just ask him for a dance, you know.” Meena had yelled in her ear after having returned from a dance with Peter, Molly’s colleague in the laboratory.

“Don’t be silly, Meena. We barely know each other. Also he’s busy…”

“Oh Molly, come on! It’s just a dance, and that’s a great way to get to know him.”

“… I-… no…”

“Why not? Unless you have a boyfriend you’ve not told me about I’m not aware of a proper excuse not to ask Seb for a dance. Or are you still not over Sherlock yet…?”

Meena had raised her brow and given Molly a strict gaze. The latter knew all too well that Meena couldn’t stand Sherlock, mostly because he was always so rude to Molly, and also because she was convinced he was to blame that the pathologist had broken her engagement to Tom. This was only partly the truth. Yes, Molly’s feelings for the detective had returned with full intensity once she’d seen him again after his “Not dead” stunt. But also she’d realised that a life with Tom, as nice and domestic as it was, was simply not for her. It just didn’t make her happy. The lack of mystery, of danger and secrets, had inevitably led to her getting bored.

“No, no… of course not.”

“Good, off you go then and flirt with Sebastian. Even if it just leads to a bit of dancing, it’ll be worth it.”

“… Argh, fine…”

Molly had had a bad feeling while heading over to the bar, but then she’d downed the rest of her Cuba Libre and leaned against the bar next to the Sebastian, pretending to only want to order another drink.

“One Caipirinha, please.”

While waiting for her drink, she’d checked out Sebastian who’d eventually noticed her and smiled at her over his drink, before leaning down to speak in her ear.

“Hello, Molly. How’re you doing?”

“Ah quite well, thanks. How about you? Do you like your first St. Bart’s party?”

“It’s not bad, yeah. Definitely better than those at my old hospital.”

Molly had been surprised how easy and nice it was to talk to Sebastian. They’d flirted and laughed and she’d actually enjoyed herself and felt quite comfortable in her skin. That was until Sebastian had suddenly frowned and looked over her shoulder, just when she’d felt someone tap it.

“Molly, I need your help downstairs in the lab, hurry up.”

Her back had stiffened at the low baritone and the warm breath at her ear when Sherlock Holmes had yelled into her ear over the loud music.

“What? Now?! Sherlock, I’m busy!”

“Molly, you can get drunk another night, I’m sure there are bars where you can appear in a too tight ballerina outfit but now I need your assistance. “

And without waiting for her consent, Sherlock had started manoeuvring her towards the exit of the function room. When they’d reached the small anteroom where the bathrooms and the exit were, Molly had been properly mad at him.

“Sherlock!! I will not help you in the lab tonight! I’m here to have some fun and then go home with Meena unless one of us finds someone to hook up with!”

Whoops… Maybe the alcohol already affected her more than she’d thought. Usually she wasn’t that bold. Sherlock had seemed irritated for a second as well but then snorted.

“Oh please! I hope you’re not talking about the guy you were just talking to.”

“You better bet I was! He’s very nice and handsome!”

“Yeah and he’s quite aware of that and has already slept with 26 women in that room.”

“Shut up, no he hasn’t!”

“Oh yeah? You think he actually cares about you?”

Sherlock had glared at her now and she’d been scowling back just as much. Admittedly in her outfit and with her bun she’d looked far more adorable than she’d have liked though.

“Yes he does! Not everyone’s like you and just-… manipulates people and their feelings for their purposes.”

A part of her had known she’d gone too far now. But the alcohol had made her brave and also she’d been quite fed up with Sherlock constantly using her.

“And now I’ll go back to him. Come back on Monday and then I’ll help you with whatever case you’re currently working on.”

She’d stomped back inside the room, pushing herself through the crowd, ignoring Sherlock who was calling after her and following her. Molly had looked for Sebastian, determined to just make use of her alcohol induced bravery and get herself a one night stand too for once, but when she’d actually spotted him, she’d frozen on the spot.

He had been still at the bar though now pretty busy groping Natasha, one of the nurses, while she as it seemed had been determined to push her tongue down his throat.

“See, like I told you!” Sherlock had reached her and given her a triumphant look.

“Now, as a one night stand is no longer an option, you might as well come and help me.”

Molly had felt her cheeks flush, the feeling of humiliation threatening to overwhelm her, and then simply roughly pushed herself past Sherlock, hurrying back to the exit and down the empty hallway to her left to the locker rooms where she’d grabbed her coat and purse from her locker. Her hands had been trembling while she was gritting her teeth, wiping her cheeks briefly when her view got blurry.

Barely ten minutes later she’d been in a cab that was taking her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Second Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos, you made me smile so much! :)
> 
> Second chapter is here.  
> Sorry there's no Sherlock included this time but I promise he'll return soon! ;)

“Hey Mary… uhm… do you have a moment…?”

It was Saturday morning, the day after the Halloween party, around 11AM and Molly hadn’t left her bed at all so far since she’d woken up at 9AM because Toby had jumped on the mattress next to her and snuggled up to his owner. All she’d done was check her phone to see if Meena had replied to the text she’d sent her from the cab the night before, that said that she’d felt quite tired and decided to go home and that Meena shouldn’t be worried about her. If her friend had seen the text though, she’d decided not to reply, or maybe unlike Molly she’d been successful at finding a lover for the night and was now still asleep in his bed.

“Molly, love, what’s wrong? You sound like you’ve caught a cold.”

Going by the background noises coming from Mary’s end of the call, she was currently rummaging around in the kitchen.

“No erm…  I’m not ill, don’t worry… I just felt like talking to someone… Would you like to come over later maybe…? I could make us some tea and waffles or something…?”

Molly hoped she didn’t sound as lonely and sad as she felt.

“Oh… Oh sweetie, I’m sorry but John and I had planned to go visit Harriet today with Anabelle. You know how much she loves her and it seems she’s really got a positive influence on Harry. Maybe next time?”

“Ah… yes sure, I understand, don’t worry, it’s fine, honestly.”

“I’m really sorry, Molly…”

She could hear that Mary meant it. Ana was only a few weeks old and therefore needed a lot of attention.

“No, it’s okay, absolutely, I’m not mad, Mary, I promise. I’ll just cuddle with Toby and binge-watch some Doctor Who on Netflix. Have a nice lazy day in bed and recover from the Halloween party, you know…”

“Oh yes, that sounds like a nice plan. God, I miss the days when I could just spend a day on the couch with you and fangirl over David Tennant.”

Mary laughed softly and warmly.

“Yeah me too…”

“But hey, I promise sometime soon I’ll leave John with Ana for a day and you and I will have a proper girls night again, yes?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

Molly smiled sadly and nodded, despite her friend not being able to see her.

“Alright, I’ve got to go now, love, but I’ll call you back soon, okay? Love you!”

“Love you too, Mary…”

Mary blew her a kiss through the phone and hung up. Molly sighed and after a few seconds nudged her phone away until it slipped over the edge of the mattress, the she curled around her cat and buried her face in his fur.

“Ugh… I love babies, Toby, but it sucks when you never get to see your friends anymore because of them…”

Comfortingly, her cat mewled and swished his tail a bit.

“You love me and have time for me though, right…?”

Molly smiled a little and pressed a kiss to the soft fur between his ears.

“I don’t need any other man in my life as long as I’ve got you… well, and David… speaking of which…”

Molly reached for her laptop that was sitting on her bedside table and opened it, starting Netflix and Doctor Who series 2.

It was quite a nice lazy day actually. She didn’t get a lot of those lately since Doctor Tempelton had left the pathology department at St Barts and moved to Glasgow with his husband, leaving Molly and the two other pathologists with more shifts and paperwork they had to cover until Mike Stamford found a proper replacement for him. She got up twice, the first time to fill up Toby’s bowls in the kitchen with fresh food and water and prepare herself a large pot of tea and some chopped apples, the second time to warm up some canned ravioli for herself.

Molly knew how to cook and wasn’t all that bad at it but as she spent most of her time at Barts, she didn’t have a lot of groceries at home. She could have popped down to Tesco of course but she really didn’t feel like exchanging her comfy onesie for proper clothes and heading outside in the damp and cold English rain that had been hitting her windows lightly all day, so she had to make do with what was there.

Time flew by while she snuggled Toby and watched Ten run mile after mile on screen, and around midnight when she felt herself fall asleep slowly, she forced herself out of bed a last time to brush her teeth and turn off her laptop.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Molly’s arm was buried elbow deep inside Mister Fergusons body when Mike Stamford entered the morgue Monday morning.

“Morning, Molly. How are you?”

She looked up surprised, removing her patient’s liver carefully and setting it on the operation table before removing her gloves and wiping her forehead with her lab coat’s sleeve.

“Good morning, Mike. I’m good thanks, how about you?”

“Ah me too, thank you…”

She frowned softly at how uncomfortable and stressed Mike seemed to be.

“Are you sure…? Is everything okay…? You look a bit stressed…”

Mike sighed and leaned against an empty slab.

“Ah I was just informed that Rebecca will have to start her maternity leave earlier than expected… apparently her blood pressure or something is worrying her doctors and now they want her to get a lot of rest…”

Molly groaned internally. She knew what that meant. Even more shifts for her and her only other colleague.

“But you’ll find a replacement for her, won’t you…?”

“That’s the thing. I already have someone who was supposed to cover her shifts when she leaves in January, as we’d planned, but he can’t start in December already as his contract lasts until the end of the year…”

“So that means Paul and I are left with twice as many shifts as usual…?”

“I fear so… I’m really sorry, Molly, but it’s only a month… will you be okay…? Otherwise I can try finding someone for December but-…”

She knew that is was almost impossible to find someone so quickly, especially as it was December that they needed a replacement for, and Mike looked so frustrated and tired that she sighed inaudibly and smiled comfortingly at him.

“No, it’s okay, Paul and I will manage, I’m sure.”

Mike looked utterly relieved.

“Ah you’re an angel, Molly! We’re so lucky to have you.”

She chuckled a bit when Mike hugged her gratefully.

“Just please make sure Paul doesn’t break a leg or something, I really can’t manage on my own…”

“He better not, otherwise I’ll just get him a wheelchair and make him work anyway.”

Mike grinned softly and let go of her.

“Right, I’ll leave you to the autopsy then.”

“Yeah, see you at lunch time maybe?”

“Sure, I’ll save you a seat.”

Mike left and Molly busied herself again with removing Mister Ferguson’s organs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Third Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologise for my embarrasing lack of knowledge when it comes to chemistry. Hope you won't mind it too much.
> 
> Also: Big thank you to all the lovely people who have left comments so far <3 Every single one makes me happy and excited, and motivates me to continue this story :)

Sherlock as usual entered the lab of St Barts quite dramatically that afternoon, coat swishing, cheekbones and turned-up collar included. As Molly was quite used to this kind of appearances by now however, she didn’t startle anymore but just briefly look up from her microscope.

“Ah Molly, where is my experiment?”

“Hello to you as well…” she mumbled under her breath, before raising her voice slightly, nodding to a worktop in a corner of the room. “Right over there.”

Sherlock forgot to thank her and instead headed past her to his experiment.

Molly allowed herself a moment to raise her brows at her microscope and then lowered her face to the ocular again. Only to poke herself in the eye with it a second later when Sherlock cursed loudly in anger.

“What’s wrong??” she asked, rubbing her hurting eye with her hand.

Sherlock turned around, an extremely unnerved expression on his features.

“What’s wrong?! One of you ignorant amateurs here ruined my experiment!”

Molly felt like he’d smacked her across the face. Yes, he’d insulted her looks before and made a lot of rude comments, but he’d never insulted her intelligence so far.

“W-… Are you sure…?”

“Yes Molly, quite so!” Sherlock snarled sarcastically, shoving the small tray with half a dozen petri dishes in her face basically. “Someone messed up the signs!”

“… can’t you maybe find out what sample is wh-“

“No I can’t, obviously!”

While Sherlock continued to explain in a long rant why exactly he couldn’t identify the different samples anymore, Molly shrunk more and more in her seat though she felt herself getting more and more angry and upset at the same time. It wasn’t her who was responsible for the signs having been dropped and put on the wrong samples.

“Listen, Sherlock, this isn’t my fault! And it’s also not my job to take care of your experiments, neither is it my colleagues! It’s kind enough of us to let you use the lab and morgue even though you technically shouldn’t be allowed to have access to our premises!”

It didn’t happen often that Molly snapped back at Sherlock which was evident by his reaction. He stared at her speechlessly for a few seconds, then simply set the tray down and rushed out of the lab.

Molly slumped together in her chair and sighed deeply, rubbing her face with both her hands. She regretted having yelled at him already. She could have told him calmly that it wasn’t her fault and that he should just repeat the experiment, instead of raising her voice.

Sherlock and she had actually developed a real friendship since he’d come back from his “death” and the whole return of Moriarty had been exposed as the work of a copycat. When he’d shown up the first time after the incident on the plane and his five minute exile they’d even exchanged a hug. Admittedly Molly had initiated it, so relieved that he was back after having expected to never see him again, but he’d returned it after a second of surprise.

Feeling utterly tired after the unwelcome events of the day, Molly slipped off her chair and started cleaning up the remains of Sherlock’s failed experiment.

She just had to get through the last three hours of her shift and then she could go home to Toby, throw the dirty laundry into the washing machine and watch some “Say Yes to the dress” or so on telly. She could do it.

 

Two weeks later Molly felt properly miserable. Since the lab incident she hadn’t heard anything from Sherlock again, Mary’s promise of a girls night so far hadn’t become reality yet either, and as if Molly’s social life wasn’t bad enough already Meena had a new boyfriend and therefore barely found any time to hang out with the pathologist. On the few occasions they’d met up since the Halloween party all she’d talked about had been Shawn from I.T., the guy at whose place she’d spent the night after the party and who actually sounded like a really nice and down-to-earth bloke.  
So admittedly he was a good match for Molly’s friend, who was quite an extroverted overexcited drama queen, and tended to get lost in fantasies and imaginary scenarios a lot.

Basically the only living being who paid some attention to Molly was her cat now and even though she loved Toby dearly, she felt quite lonely and somewhat abandoned by her friends.

Also she was very overworked. So much paperwork and so many autopsies waited to be taken care of by Molly that she regularly had to skip her lunch breaks altogether to be able to finish work somewhat in time.

When she finally left the old hospital in the early evenings, the sun had often disappeared already and as it was mid-November there was even more rain than what Londoners were used to anyway.

A part of her was aware how dangerous the lifestyle Molly currently lead – too little sleep and barely any breaks at work, not enough social contact and sunlight, irregular eating habits and rarely ever a proper warm meal - was for someone with her past but she kept pushing the alarm bells that rang somewhere in the back of her mind further away from her conscious, trying to keep herself up with the thought that as soon as the new year would start and she got two new colleagues, she’d have time to take care of herself again.

As skilled as she was at pushing aside negative thoughts, she was aware of how her clothes started getting looser and looser on her, and that the amount of makeup it took to conceal the dark shadows under her eyes increased.

While there was the extremely concerned part of her mind that made her feel guilty for treating her body so badly, there was also the one she’d managed to ignore for a good ten years now. A part of her that she’d not told any of her friends about. Not Mary, John, Greg or Meena, and definitely not Sherlock, though she secretly suspected he must have deduced it.

If he had though, he’d never brought the topic up in the whole seven years they’d know each other now.

That hidden part of her mind was the one who whispered encouraging words to her when she skipped lunch at work, was the one who felt that sick joy when her stomach growled while she was working on an autopsy, was the one that felt deliriously happy when she had to tie her belt one hole tighter.

And while Molly was too busy focusing on her massive workload and her friends didn’t have time to meet her face to face often or pay enough attention to her to notice what was going on when they did, that part of her mind slowly grew. It increased in size like a tumour or a weed that was working on taking the sunlight and water from a little flower, suffocating and weakening it until it perished.

By early December, Molly’s past had caught up with her.

The day she realised it was when she stepped on her scales in the bathroom, for the first time in months.

103.5lbs

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to write and upload this chapter, was quite busy with work these past days and therefore lacked the muse to write.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Fourth Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter again, hooray! It really gets darker from now on. Please read the tags, the last thing I want is triggering someone!

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

Molly’s mind was just focused on breathing slowly, her eyes closed still.

She knew she had to get up and take a shower and hurry up or otherwise she’d be late for work but it was one of those days when depression and anxiety and hopelessness rested on her chest like three heavy demons, whispering sweet words to her about how much nicer it was to just spend all day in bed. How exhausting it would be to have to shower and get dressed and apply makeup.

The curtains were still drawn and only through a small gap in between them some light fell into Molly’s bedroom.

She’d gotten 14 hours of sleep that night, yet she felt so exhausted that it could have been only 14 minutes.

The thought of just calling in sick was so tempting. One phone call and she’d not have to deal with people today, not have to deal with the gossip at work, with the other female doctors whispering enviously behind her back about the weight Molly had lost and playing innocent when she turned to look at them. Not having to spend her day with the bodies of dead people who’d had families who loved them, parents, children, spouses, siblings. Two days ago she’d had to perform an autopsy on a young toddler. The boy had been barely two years old when he died of leukaemia.

Throughout the whole autopsy she’d felt like a robot, but as soon as she was done and she was in her office to fill out the paperwork, she’d had a breakdown. One of those where you sob uncontrollably yet silently and clutch your stomach and feel like something is suffocating you slowly and the mere idea that you’ll ever be happy again seems as absurd as the thought of a flying elephant.

Christmas was only two weeks away but if there was anything Molly wasn’t in the mood for lately it was going to any of the few Christmas parties she’d been invited to and have to eat huge amounts of food while others watched her.   
Meena, Mike and the Watsons she’d told she was travelling to her mother’s place to celebrate with her, her brother, his wife and their two children, whereas she’d excused herself from visiting her family by telling them how much work there was to do (that wasn’t even a lie. Suicide rates always went up during the winter and the spring), and that considering only she and Paul were left in the pathology department until January, she really couldn’t take a holiday.

She’d ordered her Christmas presents for everyone online on Amazon so they’d be delivered straightaway to everyone’s homes, wrapped up nicely, and she wouldn’t have to meet anyone in person. Molly’d gotten comfortable with the thought of spending Christmas in her flat with Toby, blankets, tea and Netflix.

 

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

_Come on, Molly, you’re needed at work!_

In the end it were her feelings of guilt that got her to drag herself up and out of bed into the bathroom, after having a short stop at the kitchen to take her vitamins, down a few glasses of water and refill Toby’s water and food bowls.

That was part of her daily routine now.

Kitchen, water, vitamins, feeding Toby, using the toilet, weighing herself, taking a shower, dressing up in four layers of clothing, applying some makeup that was only semi-effective at covering the dark shadows under her eyes, tying her hair up in a bun or ponytail, getting her purse, warmest boots and coat, cuddling Toby goodbye, and leaving for the nearest tube station.

Every day was the same, the same routine, the same timetable, the same streets and staircases she used.

Molly felt numb and tired and at the same time close to tears about all day.

Her thoughts either revolved around calories and food or her own worthlessness.

Yet she tried to keep up the façade of being alright, forcing a smile on her face when she met someone she knew, trying not to show how tired she was and how dizzy and nauseous she felt all the time, saying she had a lunch date or had a big breakfast when someone tried to invite her to eat together at lunch time.

But it cost her so much energy to force herself through her daily routine that once she came home she’d often barely manage to feed Toby again, exchange her clothes for her warmest and comfiest sweatpants and a jumper that used to be her father’s back when he’d still been alive, and climb in her bed before she basically passed out with exhaustion.

The weeks went by and while Mary and John were busy with their little daughter and Meena with her boyfriend, Molly got more and more used to her social isolation and that the only occasions on which she experience a sort of joy anymore were when she was snuggling Toby and when the number on the scales had decreased since the day before. If there was nothing she was really any good at, at least she was successful at losing weight.

She’d not seen Sherlock since that one afternoon at the lab but apparently that was because he’d spent the past two weeks on a case in Glasgow with Greg, so she tried to convince herself it was nothing personal and not that he didn’t want to see her anymore.

 

 

 

Christmas came and went by and Molly hid in her flat from the world, only communicating with her friends via texts and once calling her family on Christmas Eve but the sound of the joyful squeaks of her nephew and niece at opening their presents, and her brother’s and his wife’s laughter in the background, plus the sound of her mother’s soft voice made her tear up and she had to end the call quickly before breaking down again, hugging her knees while sobbing and not even knowing why.

Molly was aware how dysfunctional she was behaving, that it was also due to her that she’d gotten so isolated and felt so lonely, but the panic that overwhelmed her at the thought of socialising and having to eat in front of people or eat in general, of the worried stares and the concerned questions, of the well-meant advice and the disappointed gaze of her mother when she realised her daughter had relapsed again, stopped her from crying out for help.

She was trapped. Trapped in her own mind, in the nightmares that had her jolt awake every night, bathed in sweat and trembling though she was never able to remember what had scared her so much.

It was a vicious circle and she didn’t know how to escape it.

And then, on the 27th December, when her weight had gotten down to 88 pounds and she’d not eaten properly in perhaps three weeks, give or take a few days, Sherlock waltzed into her morgue again.

“Molly, I need-…” he began before she’d even turned to face him, but his sentence remained unfinished at the sight of her.

Molly’s eyes were huge in her face, her cheekbones stuck out as much as his despite their very different bone structure and her cheeks were hollow. Pale lips, skin almost as white as her lab coat that looked ridiculously huge on her tiny starved frame, a tired gaze, her hair had lost its shine and stuck more to her skull, and the smile that she forced on her face was a grotesque parody of the one full of warmth and softness she usually wore.

“ … You’re back from Glasgow then…” She asked, trying to make conversation.

Sherlock didn’t reply. For once he was speechless, staring at her with his buffering face.

“Sherlock…?” she asked worried, furrowing her brows and stepping closer, hesitantly reaching her hand out to touch his arm but he suddenly took a hold of her forearm, refusing to let go despite her trying to pull it out of his hand while he inspected how much the bones at her wrist stood out.

“What the hell have you done…” he mumbled eventually, raising his gaze to meet hers, anger in his eyes, mixed with shock and something like-… fear?

The consulting detective could actually see how Molly’s metaphorical shields went up at his words. This time he let her arm go when she tried to tug it out of his grip.

“I don’t know what you mean…” she replied defensively, turning her back to return to the slab she was just disinfecting after having finished an autopsy only a few minutes before his unexpected visit.

“You know quite well what I mean, Molly! Look at you!” he snapped, following her.

“You look like the bloody death on heels! You’ve lost at least forty pounds since I last saw you!”

Molly’s body tensed and for the first time in days she felt an actual emotion besides hopelessness and sadness spread in her body. Anger flooded her mind and she tossed the cloth she was using away, turning to face him, scowling.

“Why would you care?! This is none of your business, Sherlock!”

“Of course I care when _my_ pathologist purposely starves herself to death!!”

He was close to yelling now, eyes narrowed and he had the urge to grip her by her shoulders and shake her. Shake her until this bony, starved, angry creature that his Molly had become would disappear and she’d look at him again with warm brown eyes, smile at him in that way that made dimples appear on her cheeks, hell, he’d even let her slap him a hundred times if only that would bring back the Molly he knew.

“Yeah because that’s the only reason, isn’t it?!” she was almost yelling too now but her voice was slightly croaky. “That’s what I am, I’m your little pathologist that you can manipulate and get free body parts from and exploit and with whose feelings you can play when you need a favour! Well guess what, Sherlock, I’m tired of this game! I’m tired of you commenting on my body, of being used by you, of you mocking me for wanting love, of you destroying every of my relationships because you get so fucking jealous and scared that I might not be 24/7 available for you one day because someone is actually willing to love me and spend his life with me!”

“No, you idiot, I’m worried because you’re my friend and if you go on like that you’ll die!”

Now he was yelling.

A second later he was blinking in shock.

Molly had slapped him, her tiny frame trembling with anger and her face even paler now.

“Don’t you dare… don’t you dare call me an idiot, Sherlock Holmes…” she whispered, forcing herself past him and hurrying to the door, feeling her tears spill over when she pushed the door open. Her view was blurry and she stumbled a bit on the hallway, feeling light-headed and dizzy. She just needed to reach her office and there she’d lie down on her comfy couch and have an apple and water and then she’d be fine again.

Sherlock still stood frozen where she left him, feeling something he’d not felt in a long while.

Helpless.

And he was angry. At himself, at Mary, at John, at Molly’s idiotic best friend, her colleagues, at Mike, even at Mycroft, because _no one_ had realised what was going on, no one had stopped her from getting to this point and now, now it was maybe too late already.

But he’d try everything he could to bring back the real Molly.

Happy Molly, smiling Molly, Molly who’d taken care of him once when he’d had a horrible flu and 41°C fever, Molly who went on cases with him, Molly who’d shared her flat with him after his “death”, Molly who’d risked so much to help him fake his suicide, Molly who blushed when he complimented her, Molly who’d gotten him a set of the finest violin strings available that one year for Christmas just for him to humiliate her in front of so many of her friends in his jealousy that some man had possibly won her heart and would maybe take her away from him, Molly who’d always helped him with experiments and spent nights curled up under a blanket on his couch when they’d had to wait for chemical reactions to occur over a few hours, Molly who filled out her clothes, Molly who wore jumpers and blouses with little silly patterns, Molly who made morbid jokes, _his_ Molly.

He couldn’t let her go like that. Hell, he’d carry her to therapy if he had to!

Sherlock was absorbed in his own thoughts but when he heard a sound from the hallway, he listened up.

It had sounded like-… something slumping to the floor.

He knew immediately what had happened.

Sherlock sprinted to the door and outside. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Molly’s lifeless body lying on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Fifth Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank-you to everyone who left kudos and  
> comments and bookmarks, as always! :)
> 
> Positive reviews and support really motivate me to keep  
> writing this story.
> 
> Now hope you can enjoy this chapter, it's much fluffier than  
> the last ones so far, I'd say.

When Molly awoke, the first thing she noticed was that she was lying in a bed that most certainly wasn’t hers. The second thing was the smell in the room. It was the one of disinfectants, the typical smell of a hospital.

After a few seconds she noticed a rhythmical beeping from somewhere to her right and that some sort of thin tube made of plastic was resting on her face.

Maybe thirty seconds after having woken up, she managed to open her eyes slowly, blinking quickly at the light filling the room and coming from the lamps at the ceiling.

She’d been correct; she was in a hospital room, with an IV attached to her arm and a tube to her nose. Also a sensor that was clipped on her finger measured her pulse and blood pressure, which explained the slow beeping she heard. An empty chair stood next to her bed with a black coat that seemed vaguely familiar thrown across the back of it.

Her throat was awfully dry and sore and she was just trying to find the strength to reach for the glass of sparkling water some kind soul had left on her bedside table, when the door opened and someone entered the room.

“‘lock…” was all she managed to croak out when trying to say his name.

The tall dark-haired man almost dropped his phone at that and was next to her bed with just two long steps.

“Molly…” Sherlock’s voice was low and quiet when he spoke, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, due to the dark shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks.

 His suit was crinkled and actually she noticed it was the exact outfit he’d worn during their confrontation in the morgue.

“What happened…?” she mumbled, irritated that she didn’t even recognise her own voice anymore because it sounded so different: weak and croaky, like somebody had treated her vocal chords with sand paper.

“You fainted… and hit your head quite badly so you got a concussion. Molly, you’ve been unconscious for more than forty hours…”

She tried processing his words, getting impatient with her own mind because it took her so long. Maybe she should just sleep some more. Sleeping was nice, as long as there were no nightmares.

“… Water…” Molly mumbled and tried reaching the glass again but Sherlock was quicker and carefully held it to her lips, slowly letting her drink sip after sip until it was empty.

“More…?”

She nodded and after he’d refilled the glass they repeated the whole procedure.

It felt surreal to Molly. Sherlock had never been this-… gentle with her. Her eyes were fixed on his the entire time he helped her drink.

Sherlock sunk in the chair next to her bed when they were finished but when she moved her hand a tiny bit in his direction, he took it in his hesitantly.

His skin felt so warm on her cold one.

“Now… will you tell me what happened…?”

He asked after a few seconds of silence that was only interrupted by the slow beeps coming from the heart monitor.

“I don’t know…” she whispered eventually after having stared at their hands for so long he  began to question whether she’d heard him.

“I just-… one day I woke up and-… and suddenly it was all back…”

“Why didn’t you ask anyone for help, Molly…? John, Mary, that-… Mira or whatever her name is, or me…?”

“Meena…"

“Yes, whatever…”

“… They were all busy… and why would I come to you with one of my problems…? You avoided me for weeks…”

Sherlock furrowed his brows, lines appearing on his forehead.

“… I’m sorry, Molly… For not having noticed it sooner…”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she just – with some difficulty – turned on her side and curled up, never letting his hand go though.

Suddenly Molly remembered something.

“Toby… who’s taking care of him…? I’ve got to go home…”

“Your feline is fine, don’t worry. He’s keeping himself amused with throwing my things off my mantelpiece… And you stay exactly where you are or I’ll personally carry you back to this bed myself.”

Molly just stared at him.

“… You took him to Baker Street…?”

“Yes and he’ll stay there until your doctors say it is safe to let you go home again… Besides, Mrs Hudson is absolutely in love with that cat and it might take quite some persuasive powers to make her let him go again… So be assured he’s being properly spoiled with food and cuddles.”

Despite feeling awfully numb and sleepy, Molly felt a deep wave of affection for Sherlock wash over her.

“Thank you…” she said quietly.

Sherlock met her gaze briefly and if she wasn’t mistaken (which was possible considering she had mild painkillers dripping into her from the IV plus a concussion) he even blushed a little, looking away again hurriedly and clearing his throat.

“… You’re welcome…”

Molly managed a tiny smile and gave his hand a light squeeze.

“… Did you not go home since you found me…?”

“Hm? Er… no… I didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up…”

“Did you eat and drink enough…?”        

 “Molly, who’s the one lying in a hospital bed here?”

“Well-… but have some water at least…”

“Fine…”

He refilled the glass again and downed it, repeating that twice afterwards, then he checked his watch.

“You should be getting lunch soon… I’ll just go tell the nurses you’re awake.”

“Oh… no… I-… No lunch please…”

“Molly… just something… the salad and the fruit at least…”

She had to fight her urge to deny her hunger, to deny how weak she felt, but then she nodded eventually.

“… only if you eat some of it too though…”

“If that will make you eat, I’ll do it…”

Sherlock nodded and briefly stroked across the back of her hand with his thumb before getting up and heading to the door.

Molly curled up some more when he’d left, staring at the door, anxiously waiting whether he’d come back. But he did. Sherlock was back just moments later, carrying a tray and accompanied by a middle-aged female nurse who smiled softly at Molly.

“Ah you’re back with us! Your friends will all be so calmed, I’ll call them straightaway. And maybe this young man here will now finally get some sleep… He hasn’t left the whole time since he brought you here, even had an argument with the senior consultant when they wanted to throw him out because the visiting hours were over.”

Sherlock glared at the woman’s back, looking a little uncomfortable with what she’d just revealed to Molly about his stay at the hospital.

He flopped down in his chair again after setting the tray down on the bedside table.  
  
“Did you really…?” Molly asked Sherlock flabbergasted.  
  
“I told you, I didn’t want to leave you alone…”

The nurse checked up on Molly’s vitals, seeming happy with them (considering her conditions), and then ordered her to eat her lunch - in a motherly way - before she left.

With Sherlock’s help, Molly sat up in her bed, inspecting the tube in her nose carefully with her hands before she removed the lid covering the plate and the other one covering the small bowl with salad and set them aside.

At the intense smell of the vegetarian ravioli she felt almost dizzy with hunger but she nudged the plate in Sherlock’s direction and gave him the spoon before reaching for the fork and starting to slowly eat her salad.

Clever enough to know how it would stress her out to be watched when eating, Sherlock fixed his gaze entirely on the ravioli he was spooning into his mouth hungrily. In the time it took him to finish them, Molly had only finished about three-thirds of her salad, but she had to take a break then anyway, leaning back into her pillows and sighing quietly her hands clutching the fabric of her hospital gown where it covered her stomach underneath the bedsheets.

“What did I miss then…?”

She asked after a while, raising her gaze to look at Sherlock, who was just stripping off his suit jacket. It was a good 28°C in the hospital room, just enough so Molly wouldn’t freeze but way too much for someone like Sherlock who was wearing a suit and not suffering from constant freezing due to malnutrition.

“Uhhh… Oh Anabelle apparently turned on her stomach all by herself for the first time today… John is losing his mind because he’s so proud. He even sent me a video, wait…"

Sherlock pulled his phone out of his suit trouser’s pocket and opened a video, handing his phone to Molly so she could have a look at her adorable little goddaughter who was squeaking and mewling happily while holding onto her feet and rocking back and forth on her back.

_“Come on, Ana, sweetie, turn on your tummy for daddy?”_

John said from somewhere behind the camera and Anabelle smiled brightly at her daddy, eyes full of adoration.

_“Come on, honey, like you did before! Uncle Sherlock wants to see!”_

“Only a few weeks old and John is already lying to her.”

Sherlock scoffed but he also grinned a bit, leaning in to watch too. Something in his expression softened at the sight of his goddaughter.

_“Ana, please, do a little roll for daddy and uncle Sherlock.”_

 Ana mewled at her daddy and then suddenly squirmed a bit until she was able to roll onto her stomach, squealing happily when John laughed proudly behind the camera and called her “ _brilliant_ ” and _“clever”_ and _“the smartest little baby in the whole wide world”_.

Molly chuckled a bit, smiling at the screen and handing the phone back to Sherlock when the video had ended.

“She’s wonderful…”

“I have to admit that she’s quite cute for someone who doesn’t do much else but sleep and poop and feed all day.” Sherlock nodded, pocketing his phone again.

Molly noticed how he had a look at her salad and picked her fork up again, suddenly determined to finish this bowl. She’d save the apple meant for dessert for later but at least this salad needed being finished now.  
She wanted to be allowed to go home soon and visit her tiny goddaughter and be able to hold her in her arms.

Sherlock watched her out of the corner of his eye for a second and felt a tiny glint of hope spark in his chest. A small bowl of salad wasn’t much but better than nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Sixth Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been updating in while.  
> I'm having a rough time currently and that  
> lead to writer's block and lack of  
> motivation to write to be honest.
> 
> But I hope that this chapter is alright,  
> despite it being not that long.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented,  
> as usual!
> 
> Love,  
> SometimesWriting

“Well, here we are…”

Sherlock set down Molly’s suitcase and cleared his throat. She’d been at 221B Baker Street many times and stayed overnight too occasionally when they’d worked on an experiment until the early morning and she’d been too tired to get a cab home, yet he felt unusually nervous about her presence this time.

Molly had been staying at a mental health hospital specialised on eating disorders for a month and the treatment had visibly done her good. She was still very skinny but she had gained a couple of pounds and didn’t look as starved anymore, which calmed him a lot.

Sherlock had visited her every day and even snuck Toby in a few times to Molly’s delight.

Both of them knew something about the dynamics of their friendship had changed slowly throughout those weeks, perhaps because of the way Sherlock openly displayed how much he cared about Molly.

He’d insisted on personally having a look at all eating disorder specialised mental health hospitals in their nearest proximity to make sure Molly would get the best treatment available, he’d wanted to hear about her day-to-day activities there, listened to her when she told him about some of the things that made her struggle, made sure she stayed warm and got enough physical comfort too, whether by holding her hand, by bringing her Toby to cuddle, offering her hugs or taking her on walks around the park close to the hospital throughout which he either had his arm wrapped around her shoulders or held her hand.

They’d not discussed these changes in his behaviour towards her and he was glad about it, after all he himself struggled to understand his feelings for his favourite pathologist.

Despite the fact that John and Mary and Ana had visited Molly at least once a week as well, sometimes joined by Greg or Meena, it was clear that when her doctors suggested she better stay with someone for a while after her inpatient treatment, Sherlock was the flatmate of choice.

Partly because of the fact that John and Mary’s house was quite far away from St Barts, partly because Ana didn’t sleep through the night yet and proper sleep was important for Molly’s mental health, but mostly because Sherlock would probably not have accepted anything else.

So when she’d left the hospital for good this morning, Sherlock had been waiting with one of Mycroft’s cars for her, ready to take her to 221B.

 

Molly set down her two bags and smiled a bit when she saw that he’d cleared John’s old desk for her and some of her belongings, like her laptop, were placed on it again.

“You brought over some of my things…?”

She asked, taking off her coat and putting it on a hook near the door, before she knelt down to pick up Toby who’d jumped over to greet her as soon as he saw her.

“Yes… well, Anthea did. She brought a few of your books, a variety of clothes, your pillow and duvet and a few sets of bedsheets, hygienic products – they’re in the bathroom already -, your laptop and some other things… also your post will be delivered here instead of to your flat for the duration of your stay…”

He rambled, a clear symptom of his nervousness.

“That’s so kind of her, will you tell her thank you from me…? And thank you to you too… for letting me and Toby stay here…”

Sherlock cleared his throat and stripped off his coat as well, putting it on the free hook next to hers.

“You’re welcome, Molly…  and I mean that quite literally as well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”

“Thank you…”

She smiled softly up at him, cuddling her cat softly, the feline purring contentedly.

“Mrs Hudson must have fed him quite well, he’s gotten quite pudgy.”

“Indeed, she’s got a habit of trying to feed people…  or beings… She actually turned Mrs Turner’s dachshund into a diabetic.”

The detective gave her a little smile and then headed over to his desk, intending to turn on his laptop and check his inbox for new cases.

“Oh god, I came back just in time then…”

Molly chuckled a bit, taking a seat on the edge of the couch and letting her cat curl up in her lap where she could still stroke him and scratch him behind his ears.

“Indeed… Oh, if you’re hungry or anything, feel free to eat or drink anything you find in the cupboards and fridge… I cleared it of any body parts and cleaned it thoroughly.”

He sounded rather proud of himself for being so considerate.

“Thank you so much and sorry for causing you inconvenience.”

“You’re not”

He replied immediately, looking at her with a serious gaze.

“You’re really not. Molly, I-… I failed you horribly in the past as a friend, you’ve done so much for me, way more than I can ever make up to you, so this is really the least I can do…”

“I just don’t want you to think-… Sherlock, I didn’t do these things to get something in return… You really don’t have to try to make it up to me.”

“I know. I’ll do it anyway. Because I want to.”

She blushed faintly at his intense meaningful gaze and serious low voice and redirected her gaze down at her purring cat.

They fell silent for a few seconds, during which Molly petted Toby and Sherlock took a seat at his desk, typing on his laptop’s keyboard.

“I uh… I think I’ll go and unpack.”

She said eventually, gently lifting Toby on the couch and getting up.

“Ah sure, wait I’ll carry your suitcase upstairs for you.”

“Oh no, honestly, it’s okay, it’s not that-“

“Molly, I insist.”

He was having none of her protest and strode over to lift her suitcase up, following her upstairs to John’s old bedroom.

Molly was surprised to see how lovingly the room had been decorated with many of her belongings. There was her old teddy bear on the duvet that was clad in her favourite sheets, the shelf contained many of her favourite books, including her Jane Austen collections and some of the works of Virginia Woolf, there were a couple of pairs of shoes neatly lined up next to the wardrobe that surely contained loads of her clothes, there was Toby’s basket on the carpet next to the bed, even some of her picture frames with photos of her family and some with Mary and Meena and other friends were arranged on the bookshelf and the clock that usually hung on her bedroom wall had been moved as well.

“Wow… did you do all this…?”

She turned to look at Sherlock with amazement.

He tugged on his shift cuffs and cleared his throat.

“It wasn’t that much work really…”

He blinked surprised when she suddenly hugged him tightly, then carefully returned the hug, slowly rubbing her back the way he’d started doing It at some point during her hospital stay.

They stayed like that for a little while, then Molly stirred a bit and slowly withdrew from his hug, smiling gratefully still though.

“Well-… I’ll leave you to unpacking then… If you need me, I’ll be downstairs.”

“Alright… Hope there are some interesting cases for once.”

“God me too, I’m tired of all those boring Fives and Fours.”

He sighed exasperatedly and she couldn’t help but snort softly in amusement.

“Fingers crossed that there is another serial killer or something then…”

“Don’t let Mrs Hudson hear you, ‘it’s not decent!’, but thank you.”

The detective smirked and then turned his back, heading downstairs eagerly.

Molly smiled another few seconds after he left, then sat down on the wooden bed with a quiet sigh, stroking over her sheets. This was her new home then for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
